


Dirty Glasses

by Sovvie118



Series: Askpolylosersclub Oneshots [2]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-11 23:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12946107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sovvie118/pseuds/Sovvie118
Summary: Richie is sick and home from college and wants Stan to entertain him.College age Losers ClubThis fic is based on an ask from the blog askpolylosersclub on tumblr about how Richie ended up with come on his glasses. The Losers all live together and are in an established, polyamorous relationship (OT7)





	Dirty Glasses

Richie Tozier is sick. Not like projectile vomiting, fever, unable to get out of bed kind of sick, but sick enough for him to want to stay home from work. It started off as a faint, building headache, the sort that isn’t bad enough for you to want to take pain killers but just enough for you to notice that it’s there, and gradually turned into a whole body ache. He’s trying to ignore the subtle pain in his throat, too.

Staying home sick from college and work is Richie’s idea of Heaven, though. Sitting around playing video games all day, no classes, no long, boring shift at the record store, eating whatever he wants whenever he wants with nobody around to tell him he’s being lazy is his perfect day. Only, there isn’t nobody around today. Today, staying home to write an important paper after having only one early morning class, is Stanley Uris.

Richie hasn’t seen Stan for the majority of the day, since he’s been sitting in his room with the door closed, presumably working on his paper without any unwanted distractions –Richie knows that those ‘unwanted distractions’ are probably him but he’s okay with that-. Stan’s presence has been felt nonetheless. He has frequently been emerging from his study space to make sure that Richie is eating and drinking the right things to help him overcome his illness, oblivious to the fact that Richie has been ignoring this and throwing them away in place of Gatorade and Cheetos whenever Stan is out of sight.

At present, it’s about three in the afternoon, none of the other Losers will be back from college or work for another couple of hours or so and Richie is bored. He’s been playing the new Call Of Duty for the best part of the day and while it’s kept him occupied this long, it just isn’t the same without someone to play with. Usually, this would be Bill but even sometimes Eddie or Stan would join him for a quick round.

He puts the Playstation controller down on the arm of the couch. The game is turned off and he’s been staring at a blank television screen for the past ten minutes, trying to ignore his slowly building headache. Taking another swig from the half-empty Gatorade bottle tucked at his side between the couch cushions, he stands and heads upstairs. He can see the light coming through the cracks around the doorframe of Stan’s bedroom but he heads past it and up the next staircase to the floor above that, where his and Eddie’s and Ben and Bev’s two double rooms are.

He takes a shower in the bathroom on this floor, as quickly as he can. Richie isn’t really partial to long showers unless someone else is joining him. Plus, he hates washing his hair because it gets all tangled and heavy and it gets into his eyes a lot. The spray of hot water on the back of his neck does ease the tension in his head a little but he still feels crappy as he heads towards his and Eddie’s shared room to get dressed.

Their bedroom is pretty neat and tidy, just the way Eddie left it before he went out this morning and Richie has a hard time finding where Eddie has put his clothes, as usual. Richie would prefer to leave them lying around for easy access but Eddie seems to take real offense to it and sometimes he hides Richie’s clothes on purpose to teach him a lesson. Thankfully, this time they’re easy to find, neatly folded in various drawers next to Eddie’s own and Richie pulls on some boxers, a pair of grey sweats and a t-shirt with a band logo that he realises is actually Ben’s –although he’s not sure how long it’s been in this room-. After drying his hair very un-thoroughly with Eddie’s hairdryer, he’s too afraid to try and get a comb through it, so he heads back down to where Stan is studying, shoving his glasses back onto his face as a sort of afterthought.

When he pushes the door open, Stan doesn’t even look up from the desk. There’s an expensive looking laptop set in front of him beside a large textbook and they’re the only two things laid out. He types out a couple of sentences on the screen as Richie closes the door softly behind himself.

“Working hard?” Richie asks as he goes over to where Stan is sitting. He only gets a brief ‘Mhmm’ in response as Stan leans over the book to examine some of the text. It looks pretty complicated from Richie’s perspective.

“I didn’t wanna bother you,” Richie starts, wringing his hands on the back of Stan’s chair a little bit.

“But you are,” Stan says quietly, although he changes his tone when he realises how it sounded, moving to type another sentence on the computer, “What’s up, Rich?”

“Can you brush my hair for me?”

This actually makes Stan look up from the screen and he turns to glance at Richie over his shoulder, eyeing the mess of dark hair that still looks a little bit damp.

“Can’t you brush it yourself?”

“I’m too scared to do it.”

He sees Stan’s eyes wander over him briefly before his hands move away from the keyboard and he turns in his chair to stand with a little sigh. Richie watches him silently as he moves across the room to one of the dressers, opening a box on the top of it to take out a pristinely clean hairbrush. He motions for Richie to come over to him, standing behind him when he does and brushing the tangles out of the very ends of his hair.

“Did you use conditioner like I always tell you to?” he asks, in a rather patronising tone. It’s a stark contrast to how gentle he’s being with Richie’s hair.

“Yeah,” Richie says, convincingly. It’s a lie. He can’t see behind him but he feels Stan reach over to the box again to pick something out, and he sprays something from a small bottle into Richie’s hair while he’s combing it. It smells faintly of coconut.

By the time Stan is done with all of the knots and the brush goes smoothly through all of Richie’s hair, he feels pretty relaxed. He hears Stan putting things back into the box and feels Stan’s fingers run over his scalp briefly before he goes to sit back down in his desk chair.

“You’re good with your fingers,” Richie chuckles as he rounds on him again to lean on the back of his seat. It earns a soft noise from Stan, more of a sharp exhale than a laugh but Richie still feels a sense of achievement.

“I know,” Stan says nonchalantly as he turns the page of the textbook. Richie completely loses Stan’s attention again at that point and he feels sort of put out by it. He watches quietly for a while as Stan continues to type out his piece, although he quickly gets bored of that and moves his focus onto Stan himself.

Richie has always thought that Stan was rather pretty, for a guy. There are a lot of feminine qualities about him, from his long eyelashes and nicely-shaped lips to his neatly manicured nails. He’s always been jealous of how Stan’s curls look so silky and perfectly placed in comparison to his own course hair.

He trails his gaze across the side of Stan’s face, observing the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes whenever he turns to read a section of the book, the way the tip of his tongue sometimes darts out to wet his lips when he’s concentrating, how his hand comes up just once or twice to delicately brush aside curls that have fallen into his face.

Stan doesn’t swat Richie away the first time he leans in to plant a kiss on his cheekbone. In fact, he almost shifts into it a little, although he doesn’t speak and his attention is still elsewhere. The second time, when Richie moves in again to get his jaw, he doesn’t even flinch. The third time, when Richie’s lips touch his neck and linger for a jot too long, he finally reacts.

“Richie, I really have to get this done.”

Richie pulls his lips away from him so that he can speak, closely watching the side of Stan’s face as he leans over the back of the chair.

“But I’m bored. I don’t feel well.”

It comes across sounding almost whiny, and Richie visibly sees the tension in Stan’s shoulders that the tone brings.

“You can sit in here. Just don’t distract me.”

Richie glances over to the bed briefly, considering it as somewhere to take up refuge for a while. It’s so neatly made, with crisp, hospital corners and not a single crease in the comforter, that he would almost feel bad sitting there. He mulls this over in his mind for a while, listening to the steady click of Stan’s fingers hitting the keys, before rounding the chair instead and settling right in Stan’s lap. He can practically feel the tension beneath him in Stan’s thighs as he sits down.

“What are you doing?”

“You said I could sit in here.”

“Yeah. And I also said ‘Don’t distract me’. Did you not hear that part?”

“I’m not distracting you. Just pretend I’m not even here.”

“I can’t see the computer screen past you. And you’re heavy.”

“…Can I just have a hug?”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t feel well. Just one minute and then I’ll move.”

He hears Stan sigh behind him and turns his body towards him. Thankfully, Stan is obviously in a good mood because his arms go around Richie and he pulls him into a hug. It’s not very firm; Stan’s hugs never are, but Richie presses closer and slides his own arms around Stan’s shoulders, nuzzling into the side of his head.

“I’m counting,” Stan’s voice comes from beside his ear, but it’s punctuated by a soft chuckle and Richie laughs, too. He dares a kiss against Stan’s cheek, adding another couple when he doesn’t feel him pull away. Stan eventually stops him when he goes for his lips, though.

“No.” It’s said very firmly and even Richie’s desperate attempt at puppy dog eyes doesn’t sway him, “Richie, you’re sick. I don’t wanna catch it from you. I have to go to college and work and I have too much stuff to do.”

“Just one little kiss. There doesn’t even have to be tongue.”

“Richie, no!” Stan chuckles again, although it’s more playful this time as he ducks out of Richie’s way and pushes at his cheek with his palm.

Richie flips a leg over Stan so he’s straddling him, pressing further into his lap and leaning in to try and kiss at his neck instead but Stan pushes his face away again.

“C’mon, Stan. Give a guy a break. I’m sick. I just want a distraction.”

“I really have to get this paper done.”

“You can finish it later. Just give me, like, ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?”

“Ten minutes.”

Richie watches Stan’s face as he sees him working this over in his mind. Their eyes meet, then and Richie tries to give him his best pleading look. It clearly works this time because Stan lets out a soft sigh and then shrugs his shoulders a little.

“Okay. Ten minutes. But don’t kiss me on the mouth.”

Triumphant, Richie bounces in Stan’s lap with a little ‘yes!’ before reaching down between them to get at Stan’s belt. Stan seems to have other ideas, though, and he grasps at Richie’s wrists rather firmly.

“No. Just you.”

His tone makes Richie stop to look into his eyes again and there’s a familiar, playful glint in his eyes that gives Richie a rush of adrenaline that he feels through his whole body.

“Just me,” Richie repeats, rather obediently. He moves his hands away, expecting that Stan is going to take over but he doesn’t. He just continues to watch Richie with that look in his eyes, placing his hands neatly on the arms of the chair as if to make a point.

Richie is amused by it, though, and he drops his hand between them to the front of his own sweats, starting to rub down a little. It doesn’t really feel that good, yet, through the two layers of clothing.

“Are you hard?” Stan asks, as casually as if he was asking him if he was cold. Richie shakes his head, palming himself a little more roughly to try and speed things along. He moves in to try and kiss at Stan’s jaw or his neck, anything that might help to turn him on but Stan stops him again with a very firm ‘No’.

“Do it without touching me,” he adds, looking a little bit smug a Richie sits back again.

“This is gonna take a lot longer that way,” Richie chuckles, but it’s only half true. The idea of Stan telling him what to do and giving him that look is doing it for him already. He can feel the gradually stiffening flesh through his sweats.

“Go under,” Stan orders, then, gaze dropping to Richie’s hand as it slides beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. The material of his underwear is a lot thinner and he can feel how hot it’s getting there, now. Stan watches him for a while, silently, as he works himself up. “Are you hard now?”

“Getting there,” Richie chuckles, pressing down more firmly with his palm. The feeling of being in Stan’s lap and having his thighs just touching the sides of Stan’s waist is certainly helping the process along. “Do you have some lotion or something?”

He watches Stan reach over the side of the chair to one of the lower desk drawers. He can’t see what’s in it from here but Stan comes back up holding a bottle of lube that has a picture of some cherries on the front of it.

“Flavoured?” Richie chuckles, raising his eyebrows as Stan pops open the cap while making dead eye contact with him. He doesn’t say anything on the topic, and he stops Richie from taking the bottle from him, holding it out of his reach.

“Move your clothes out of the way.”

Richie obviously isn’t going to say no to such a request, and he tugs at the waistband of his sweats and manoeuvres himself so he can move them down until they’re around his thighs, pulling his boxers just at the front to release his erection from the fabric. He’s still not fully hard, but he’s almost there. Stan barely misses a beat, squirting some of the pink-tinted liquid onto the head of Richie’s cock until it runs down the side and onto Richie’s waiting fingers.

“Go slow,” Stan orders then, as he places the bottle next to them on the desktop. He watches intently as Richie swipes his thumb over the head and through the lube to spread it across. When Richie focuses his attention there, then, rubbing it over and over as his breath gets faster and faster, Stan gives him a dangerous look. “I said ‘slow’.”

Richie exhales shakily, pressing his thumb down against the slit as Stan watches his face, now. He doesn’t say anything more, so Richie decides that it’s safe to continue. He slides his fingers around the tip, dropping them as slowly as he can take to the base where it meets his groin. It gets pretty slick after that, with the lube now covering the entirety of his cock, and he struggles to keep the slow pace that Stan makes him set. Every time he starts to speed up even a little, Stan is on his case immediately until he slows down again.

“This is gonna take longer than…ten minutes if you don’t let me do it properly,” Richie breathes out after a while of this torture, but Stan only graces him with a short smirk.

A couple more minutes in and Richie can’t take any more. Every time he moves his hand it seems to be getting more and more sensitive and yet, he can’t seem to get close to a climax because it’s so slow.

“Touch it right here,” Stan says suddenly, motioning with his finger to the underside of the shaft just where it meets the tip. Richie has been avoiding that area as much as he can because for some reason, on him, it’s the most sensitive part and it actually starts to hurt if he touches it too much. It can lead to some pretty intense orgasms if he does, though.

“No,” Richie chuckles, watching Stan’s hand warily where it’s still close to him. Stan’s eyes flicker up to meet Richie’s for a brief second, before he knocks Richie’s hand out of the way to use his own, sliding his fingers around him so firmly that it actually draws a sort of strangled moan out of his throat. He knows that it’s coming before Stan’s thumb even gets onto the spot he was motioning to before, and he starts to rub down there hard as Richie grips at both Stan’s wrist and the arm of the chair.

“S-stop you…you know that it hurts if you do it too much…”

Stan completely ignores him, continuing to rub at the area with the pad of his thumb, over and over and over until Richie is begging him to stop and clawing at any surface he can reach. He’s already left angry red nail marks in Stan’s arm.

“Stan…”

He can feel that look on him again; the one that makes his blood run hot and sparks his excitement but usually means he’s going to be subjected to some interesting scenarios. He can feel that his hair is sticking to him around his jaw and on the back of his neck and briefly laments his earlier shower as the effects of it are undone so easily. Looking down, he can see that the head of his cock looks red and almost swollen from the overstimulation. There’s a bead of pre-come just there, peeking out of the slit, but Stan seems to be ignoring it for now.

“Please…” Richie continues, wondering if this will get him any further, especially with the desperate tone in his voice which is actually unintentional. He watches as Stan runs his thumb up to the tip and through the white bead of liquid there, and the sensation is so good that he can’t help his head from dropping back. He feels like he’s going to come any second.

“I’m gonna come…Stan, I’m gonna come,” he groans, unable to help his mouth from running off even in this situation. Announcing it is a mistake. Stan immediately drops his hand to the base and gives it a tight squeeze, just enough to stop him from coming. At first, Richie can’t believe it. He’s already so hard that it’s starting to hurt and Stan is going to do this _right now_.

He sighs out a ‘no’, trying to grab for Stan’s hand to keep him going, and reaching to try and get his hand around himself instead when it doesn’t work. Stan lets him do it, watching as he strokes at himself above where Stan’s fingers are at the base. He can’t come like this, though, and Stan knows it. He allows him to keep going, watching Richie moaning and squirming in his lap; even though he can’t finish he still continues to jerk his hand, getting faster and faster and more desperate.

“You gonna come?” Stan teases, leaning closer to Richie’s face but Richie can’t even nod or shake his head in response. He lets out a shaky breath against Stan’s lips that almost seems like he’s trying to form a word but nothing comes. He reaches up with his free hand to gently pull Richie’s glasses to the end of his nose so that he can see his eyes properly behind them.

In the end, he does let Richie come, waiting until he looks like he literally can’t take anymore and his eyes actually start to water and he’s whimpering on outward breaths and his thighs are shaking. He moves back out of the way before releasing his own grip on Richie’s cock so he can work himself through the rest of it, which he does, moving his hand so quickly at the tip, with audibly wet noises to accompany the action, that Stan is sure it must actually hurt. He comes without making a sound, which is unusual for Richie; his breath seems caught in his throat. The best part about it, for Stan at least, is that he comes so hard it actually hits his own glasses where they’re still resting low on his nose, a couple of drops splattering right across one of the lenses. The rest of it lands across his t-shirt and then, as it starts to die down, leaks onto his fingers. Stan isn’t sure how, but he continues to pull himself through it until he’s completely done, biting at his lower lip so hard that there are teeth marks there when he stops.

“Good?” Stan asks after a while of watching Richie come down from his high, sweaty and breathless and trembling. Richie only looks over the top of his glasses at him with a dopey grin. If Stan wasn’t trying to avoid getting sick, he’d lean in to kiss that look right off his face.

“…You sure you don’t want a turn?” Richie breathes after a while, as he tucks himself back into his underpants. Stan seems to ponder this for a second; having that sort of control over someone and seeing them come apart completely under his influence really does it for him, and his own trousers _are_ a little tight. Richie can feel it, too, and he grinds down against him and watches the slight twitch in Stan’s eyelids from the sensation. When he does it again, a little harder this time, Stan’s hands come in to grip at his hips, holding Richie in place.

“You like that?” Richie chuckles, rocking his hips into a rhythm and pressing down against him as hard as he can manage while his thighs still feel a little bit like jelly. Stan’s fingers dig into him harder, one hand going to the back of his sweats and onto his ass as he tugs him closer into his lap to get better friction. He can feel Stan getting harder under him, but he knows what will really get him going and he lifts one of his own hands to Stan’s jaw, just underneath his chin and almost on his throat, watching as Stan’s pupils dilate.

“You know, we could fuck in this chair, like this,” he continues, untucking Stan’s shirt with his free hand and working on his belt, “Or I could just make you come right in your pants.”

Stan still doesn’t speak, but Richie feels the slight jolt of his hips when he tightens his grip on his jaw and his thumb presses against his throat just barely. Once his belt is open, he unfastens his trousers, too, wasting no time in getting his hand into Stan’s underwear, still slick with the cherry lube and his own come, to wrap around him and start to pull him off. There’s a muffled noise from Stan’s throat, then and Richie drops his hand just slightly from his jaw, wrapping his fingers around his neck instead and feeling Stan immediately buck his hips with a shaky breath.

Stan’s pupils are blown wide with lust, now, and there’s a very slight pink in his cheeks and Richie can’t take it anymore. He wants to wreck him completely, so he releases his grip on him and slides off the chair and onto his knees. Stan seems to see what he’s doing and shifts to the edge of the chair so that Richie can get between his thighs properly.

“You wanna come in my mouth?” Richie smirks up at him playfully as he tugs Stan’s erection out of his trousers so he can get his tongue on it. He keeps eye contact with him as he does it, waiting for Stan to get impatient and grip at his hair before he takes him into his mouth, deeper than he intended to when Stan pushes his hips up. He doesn’t gag, but it almost hits the back of his throat and he feels the nagging urge.

“Don’t pull away,” Stan orders, but it comes out breathy and Richie knows that he’s losing his control. He takes a few deep breaths through his nose, calming his gag reflex enough that he can continue and when he starts to bob his head he looks up to see Stan gripping at the chair arm with his head dropped back. His other hand is still in Richie’s hair and it’s almost painfully tight, but Richie likes that.

The moment is short lived, however, when there’s a sound outside the room, and Stan barely has enough time to kick Richie away and under the desk so he’s hidden, sliding his chair under there, too, to hide his own current situation, before Bill walks into the room. He’s holding a to-go Starbucks cup in one hand and is wearing his work uniform, black shirt and trousers with a name badge that says ‘Bill’.

“Hey,” he says cheerfully as he comes over to the desk to stand beside Stan, “Still w-working on that paper?” He leans in briefly to catch Stan’s lips in a kiss as he turns his head and Stan is sure that he might have gotten away with it until Bill pauses as he’s pulling away. He looks vaguely concerned.

“Are y-you okay? You look a little…”

Stan cuts him off before he can finish with a quick ‘I’m fine’, sitting upright at the desk although staying as close to it as he can as he looks back at the laptop screen. Unfortunately, it’s gone into standby and the screen is blank, and he only notices it as his hands reach for the keys. Bill gives it a brief, questioning glance before he looks back to Stan.

“Are you g-getting sick?” Bill asks innocently, placing his coffee down on the desk and reaching up with a warm hand to place it against Stan’s forehead, “You f-feel warm…and clammy.”

Stan swats his hand away rather irritably. Richie is still between his thighs under the desk and he can feel him shaking, clearly trying to hide laughter.

“I said I’m fine, Bill.”

“…Okay,” Bill sighs a little, before gaining a smirk as he motions towards the blank computer screen, “I’ll l-leave you to your…essay…or whatever it w-was you were watching.”

Stan shoots him a scandalised look, but he accidentally kicks Richie under the desk as he turns and there’s a small ‘ow’ from down there which Bill’s eyes immediately turn to. Then realisation dawns.

“R-Richie? Is Richie under there?!”

“Keep your voice down!” Stan hisses, motioning to the open bedroom door. They can hear voices downstairs from the lounge.

“Yeah, I’m under here,” Richie’s voice comes from near Stan’s legs, as Bill goes to shut the door.

Stan rubs at his temples as Bill returns to his side, looking thoroughly amused.

“S-so…what is Richie doing under there?” he asks as he perches himself on the edge of the desk. He already knows the answer; they all know it, but he clearly just wants to hear Stan say it.

“He’s cleaning the floor,” Stan says sarcastically, as Bill pushes at the chair with his foot to roll it back. Stan’s trousers are still unfastened and his erection is still prominent outside them, still wet with Richie’s saliva; clearly Bill walking in had the opposite effect than it should have and only kept him aroused. Bill’s eyes are on it and he looks like he’s going to say something, opens his mouth to, but it’s as if it won’t come out.

Thankfully, Richie appears from under the desk, glasses still on the end of his nose and still looking quite dishevelled.

“So…can I keep going? Because I was sorta enjoying myself.”

“Yeah,” Bill and Stan say, simultaneously, neither missing a beat. Richie scoots forward on his knees to get between Stan’s thighs again and Bill lifts his eyes to look at Stan’s face as Richie takes him back into his mouth. He picks up his to-go coffee again, lifting it to his lips without taking a sip, and when Stan moans from the back of his throat, he puts it down again. Richie’s head is bobbing again, now, but it’s Bill’s presence that seems to be really working Stan up.

There’s a heavy tension in the room as this continues, and Bill shifts around a lot on the edge of the desk, unable to sit still. He picks up his coffee a few times but never takes a sip. He watches Stan’s fingers lace into Richie’s hair, watches his back arch out of the chair just slightly and hears the low groan that comes out of him.

“D-does it feel good?” he asks suddenly, and it comes out lower than he intended but it draws Stan’s attention anyway. He shakes his head a little but Bill knows that it’s not because it doesn’t feel good, but rather he’s warning Bill not to talk to him. Only, that makes him want to even more, and he drops from the desk to go over, leaning against the back of the chair and just gently running his fingers through Stan’s hair. From here, he has a better view anyway, and he can see Richie’s lips around Stan’s cock, sliding up and down on it.

“Does it f-feel good?” Bill asks again, in more of a whisper this time, and he runs his fingers through Stan’s hair again, watching him lean into it and drop his head back slightly. He doesn’t reply but the shaky outward breath is enough indication. He leans in to place a soft kiss against Stan’s cheek and sees him spread his thighs further apart out of the corner of his eye. He knows that he must be getting close. And that he has to ask.

“Are you close?” he whispers, moving just a little further down to kiss at Stan’s neck just under his jaw. He gets visibly tense and there’s another soft moan from the back of his throat but he still doesn’t speak.

“You gonna t-talk to me or not?” he continues, against his ear, looking down at Richie again. He must be taking him pretty deep, now, because only the top of his head is visible, and both of Stan’s hands are now fisted in his dark curls. Richie seems oblivious to the fact that Stan is so close to coming, but Bill can tell by how fast his chest is rising and the slight crease between his brows. He leans in to kiss at the side of Stan’s face over and over, waiting for his chance.

And then it happens, right as Richie takes him deep and Stan holds him there as he comes. He moans out loud and Bill leans in to catch the sound between their lips in a deep kiss as Stan arches his back out of the chair.

Richie takes it anyway, gagging a little but ultimately managing to do it, and he swallows as he pulls away, leaning on Stan’s thighs to watch him with Bill, caught in a slow kiss. He’s a little bit jealous, since Stan wouldn’t let him kiss his lips.

When they eventually pull apart, Stan looks quite relaxed and blissed out and Bill chuckles and gives him another quick peck before moving away. He leans down to Richie, too, avoiding his lips but getting him on the cheek before he picks up his coffee.

“I g-gotta go take a shower. Someone spilled c-coffee on me today?”

“Was it you?” Stan asks from the chair without opening his eyes, still a little breathless, and Richie chuckles.

“…Maybe,” Bill mumbles as he leaves the room while taking another sip.

Richie decides that he should probably help Stan out, so he tucks him back in and fastens his trousers and belt for him, although he leaves his shirt untucked because he’s sure that Stan would probably just redo it anyway. He stands from the floor, then, taking his glasses off briefly to look at the smear of his own bodily fluids that’s drying on the lens, before putting them back on with an amused expression.

“Go and clean your glasses,” Stan says quietly from the chair, and he watches as Richie comes over but he’s not fast enough to avoid him coming in for a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss before he leaves.

He stares at the blank laptop screen for a long time, wondering when he should start to move, but he feels quite comfortable where he is. After some thought, he decides to go and join Bill in the shower.

 

Stan wakes up with a sore throat and a pounding headache the next day and swears his revenge on Richie Tozier.


End file.
